


Jeeves and the Bally Unpleasant Yuletide Wheeze

by godsdaisiechain (preux)



Category: Jeeves & Wooster, Jeeves - P. G. Wodehouse, Santa Clause (Movies)
Genre: Christmas, Cuddling & Snuggling, M/M, indeedsir yuletide fest 2012
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-21
Updated: 2014-12-17
Packaged: 2017-11-21 22:25:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 6,287
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/602732
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/preux/pseuds/godsdaisiechain
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After Aunt Agatha beans Santa on the old onion, knocking him out of commission for the nonce,  Bertie and Jeeves find themselves at the North Pole. </p><p>Mrs. Claus reveals something Jeeves would rather Bertie not have known--he's in love with the young master.   </p><p>Wacky whatsits ensue.</p><p>Updated for 2014.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Jeeves and the Naughty List

**Author's Note:**

> Originally for the IndeedSir Holiday fest, prompt: Visit to Father Christmas

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I quailed before the stern look of Mrs. Claus. Even Jeeves blinked a little. She toddled over to a huge book and started flipping pages. 'Yes. Stealing biscuits and policemen’s helmets. Illegal golf clubs.' Jeeves made a noise like a dove coughing on a ginger nut. 'And you, Reginald. Stacking bets. Burning Bertram’s clothes. Neglecting to tell him about the embezzlement you discovered. And letting all those young women believe you are in love with them when you are really in love with Bertram. Very naughty, indeed.' "
> 
> Bertie and Jeeves find themselves embroiled in wacky high jinks at the North Pole

**_Part One: Jeeves and Wooster at the North Pole_ **

It was Christmas Eve and the last of the Woosters was in a sleigh biffing through the heavens behind a set of flying reindeer.  Jeeves and self had been scooting up and down chimneys for what seemed to be about three thousand years. Not even on boat race night had Bertram felt so giddy and wavy and out-of-control, nor possessed of a more unfortunate and inappropriate bit of headwear. A deuced giant pom-pom was determined to insert itself between the Wooster teeth.

The blasted jingling of the reindeer’s harness, the sleigh and the giggling elves had the grey cells bouncing about as we whizzed about the dark night.  The blighted sleigh ground to a halt finally, fetching up beside an alpiney gingerbread-looking house with a fence made from candy-canes.

“Jeeves?” I asked, shaking snow from the old pom-pom.  The elves led the reindeer off into a huge Tinkertoy, oversized gumdrops, and glitter affair.

“Yes, sir?”  He started the usual shimmer, but jingled and stopped, looking none too happily at his shoes.  Their ornately embroidered and curled up toes clanged with silver bells. He was bedecked in a fuzzy green tunic trimmed with white fur.  It had come with a set of very revealing tights.  The sight of him had stirred B. to the depths.  Jeeves had managed to chivvy the elves into tailoring my fuzzy red and white suit and whipping him up a set of fuzzy trousers. Little fellows could work like magic. Only the shoes wouldn’t budge.

The bean spun like one of the several thousand elf-made tops we’d left in children’s stockings across Scotland. “Jeeves, what has transpired? One minute we were at Aunt Agatha’s and the next we were in a flying sleigh being chivvied by hysterical elves to dispense toys and candy and coal. Where the deuce are we?”

Jeeves frowned. “Most mysterious, sir. We may collect more intelligence indoors.” We ankled in to find about three thousand elves rocketing about, giggling and bunging cookies at each other.  Rather like the Drones, yet Bertram dearly wanted to hide out in the cozy bed for some weeks.

A roundish, motherly-looking woman oozed out carrying a huge tray of sugar cookies.  Jeeves shuddered inwardly at the garb, a red and green calico apron over a red and white gingham dress. She stopped when she saw us, and the jaw fell open. She pulled herself together with an effort. “Binky and Winky brought him back home on Blitzen.”

“Blitzen?”  I said. She nodded chirpily. “Ah, Blitzen.”

“Cookie?” asked the woman, proffering a tray of gingerbread reindeer and stars. The willowy form nearly revolted.

“No, thank-you,” I said, trying not to shudder. “That is, we er, had…”

“If I may, sir. Thank-you, madam. Mr. Wooster and I collected several thousand cookies earlier,” said Jeeves.  Thankfully the elves and reindeer had eaten most of the bally things.

The woman shook herself. Clearly, she had never seen anyone like Jeeves before. “Thank-you very much, Mrs., ah, Whatsit,” I said.

“Claus,” said the woman.  “Mrs. Claus.  But where are my manners?  Thank-you for doing all those deliveries.  It was most considerate, especially since you’ve been on the naughty list for so long.” The elves went quiet and edged back slowly.

“The naughty list?” I said.  The name Claus should have rung a jingle bell, but the bean felt as though it had been filled with pom poms. 

I quailed before the stern look of her. Even Jeeves blinked a little. “Yes.  The Naughty List. Quite some years.” She toddled over to a huge book and started flipping pages. “Yes.  Stealing biscuits and policemen’s helmets. Illegal golf clubs.”  Jeeves made a noise like a dove coughing on a ginger nut. “And you, Reginald.  Stacking bets. Burning Bertram’s clothes. Neglecting to tell him about the embezzlement you discovered. And letting all those young women believe you are in love with them when you are really in love with Bertram. Very naughty, indeed.”  Jeeves turned bright red and I went absolutely white.

“In love?” I gargled. That seemed a bit ripe, after all.  Jeeves would never love a mentally negligi-whatsit bird such as the young master.

“Yes, Bertram.  And don’t you fib about your feelings.  He sees you when you’re sleeping, you know.”  The mouth opened and closed. She looked at me more kindly. “But you do have a heart of gold. At least you are not greedy. Most people would have been much more upset about the embezzlement.”

“Ah,” I said.  “Most whatsit. And, er, it was not real. Just that solicitor wanting to show Jeeves up, what?”  I looked up at Jeeves ready for the inside chuckle. “In love? What rot, eh, Jeeves?”

Jeeves went a dark purplish. “I apologize for the liberty, sir. I will endeavor to amend it.”

I say. That was unanticipated. 

A couple of elves jingled up.  “Santa’s awake,” said one.  Another elf rushed up and whispered.  “Naughty?!”  he hopped away right quick. Made the last of the Woosters feel a bit of a prat.

“Our elves are allergic to naughtiness,” said Mrs. Claus primly.

"Ah, right," said the young master.

 


	2. Jeeves Cuddles to the Rescue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Closer examination of the prostrate form revealed it to be Father Christmas. Lady Worplesdon had taken him for a burglar and knocked him unconscious with a large heavy silver pitcher in the shape of a cow. Her technique was very good, and I could readily understand her frustration with her nephew’s mild manners." 
> 
>  
> 
> Jeeves explains how he and Mr. Wooster became Santa's replacements for the evening. Then he nearly dies of embarrassment. Bertie describes a Christmas Eve sleepover at the North Pole.

**Part Two: An Unsettling Event (narrated by Jeeves)**

Christmas Eve found my master at the London home of Lady Worplesdon. Lady Florence Craye resided in the house and Sir Roderick Glossop and his family, Sir Watkyn and Madeline Bassett, as well as Lord Sidcup were among the guests. I predicted some unpleasantness, and after a great number of gentle hints, Mr. Wooster requested that I come to fetch him home to deal with some emergency before the evening grew overly 'scaly.'

I left a Junior Ganymede Club party to see Mr. Wooster home. Mr. Spenser, the butler, told me of an altercation among the unmarried ladies over the tea tray. Apparently, some confusion had arisen as to which one was engaged to my master. Mr. Spenser led me around the ensuing uproar to where Mr. Wooster was concealed in a small study.

Neither of us was prepared for the sight of Lady Worplesdon landing a heavy blow to a stout man in a most distasteful bright red fur suit.  Closer examination of the prostrate form revealed it to be Father Christmas. Lady Worplesdon had taken him for a burglar and knocked him unconscious with a large heavy silver pitcher in the shape of a cow.  Her technique was very good, and  I could readily understand her frustration with her nephew’s mild manners.  Mr Wooster stood, staring ineffectually.

“Bertie! See to this!” Lady Worplesdon shoved the pitcher into his arms and swept out without a look at Mr. Spenser or myself.

"Ah, Jeeves! Lend me a hand, will you?" said Mr. Wooster. "Come to the aid of the party and all that."

"Certainly, sir," I said. 

A series of piercing giggles rent the night. Several elves hopped onto the hearth, placed a finger aside the nose and gave a nod. Suddenly, Mr. Wooster, arrayed in an unbecoming red furred outfit, and I, clad in a scandalously revealing green elf tunic and tights, were in a sleigh full of toys drawn by flying reindeer.

"I say," said Mr. Wooster. "What the devil is going on?"

One of the elves explained that we had activated a form of obligation wherein the householder responsible for incapacitating Father Christmas must see to the rest of the trip. We spent a torturously extended period of time distributing candy, toys, and coal before being summoned to the North Pole for a special visit with St. Nicholas. It took all my reserves of tact and resource to manage the situation.

My mortification had been considerable as the elves showed a giggling interest in my physique. Thankfully, the creatures are eager to work, and produced more suitable garments for Mr. Wooster and myself.

Then we reached the North Pole, where Mrs. Claus announced that I was in love with Mr. Wooster. Mr. Wooster had never shown the slightest inclination for the intimate company of men. And the only exposure I knew he had to such activities had clearly horrified him. And even if it had not, Mr. Wooster would never consider an alliance with me. He hardly viewed me as a human, thinking that I was a cross between a household appliance and a genie. No wonder he thought it was a joke.  Thankfully, it is not possible to die of embarrassment.  

Then I was called in to see Father Christmas. I often recommend the combination of resource and tact as sufficient to meet the challenges facing a gentleman’s personal gentleman. I had no idea that these dual remedies could ever fail me as utterly as they did before Father Chirstmas.

“Reginald, I am most concerned about your situation.” He took a bag of ice from an elf and set it on his head where Lady Worplesdon had struck him.

“Sir?” I asked, utterly nonplussed. Was he asking about my betting schemes?

Father Christmas smiled genially. “Tell me about your master," he said. I began to describe Mr. Wooster’s sunny personality, intellectual limitations, kindness and generosity. Then I spoke of his heart, a heart of gold. In moments, I had nearly dissolved into helpless tears of love and longing. St. Nicholas nodded sadly. “Reginald, you should consider being more open with him.”

I could not imagine ever being open in such a way with Mr. Wooster. "But, sir, it would be most improper."

"You might be surprised at his feelings, Reginald."

 

**Part Three: Jeeves and the Christmas Eve Rannygazoo**

Jeeves went before the great and powerful Claus and by the time Wooster was called forth, the poor fellow was collapsed on a giant gumdrop, hands gripping the map.

An elf balanced a sack of ice over the huge egg on the Clausian onion, a result of Aunt Agatha’s enthusiastic household defense with an oversized cow creamer. Father Christmas groaned and gave me a rummy eyeball. “Bertram, I simply cannot speak about your naughtiness now. You and Reginald will have to stay the night and speak with me in the morning.” Father Christmas and elves shuffled off.  In fact, the elves cannoned out, giggling like a group of giddy schoolgirls, carrying old St. Nick.

Jeeves looked red and blotchy about the dial, probably a result of the cold. I oozed to his side and patted the shoulder.  Mrs. Claus came up behind, with another tray of cookies.

"I've made up the guest room for you two," she said. "Come along."

We flowed to the guest room. A most welcome tray of materials for hot toddies and tasty-looking sandwiches sat on the bedside table. Two sets of red-and-green pajamas—one paisley, one striped—lay on a chest of drawers carved with snowflakes and reindeer. Two duvets, one paisley and one striped, lay on an oversized bed and two sets of curly-toed slippers waited. It all seemed very companionable. Wooster felt a warmth in the corpus that had nothing to do with the merry blaze in the fireplace.

Jeeves looked at Mrs. Claus questioningly. “It’s too cold here to sleep alone. We could have put you in with the elves, but you might want to rest for more than thirty minutes.”

“Indeed, madam,” said Jeeves. “Thank-you.” She tooled out.

I wanted a bathe, but some magic had cleansed all the dust and soot away. Sadly, the paisley pajamas were for Jeeves. He looked just a treat, though, and the image of his overly snug tights presented itself to the bean only to be suppressed most forcefully. Generally Wooster allows his thoughts free rein in the privacy of the bedchamber but tonight that p. was limited.

As Jeeves fussed over the hot toddies, I disposed self into the bed under the paisley duvet. Jeeves tucked himself in beside me. We nibbled sandwiches and discussed events of the evening, skirting the matter of the naughty list, and then the head started to nod and we curled up under our separate covers.

I woke up cold and shaking. My duvet had slipped off in the jaw of a faintly jingling ruminant, chilling the willowy corpus straight through. “Oi!”

“Sir?” A muffled Jeeves instantly appraised the sitch. Deftly wrapping the young master in his warm duvet, Jeeves removed the paisley cover from the faintly j-ing r. and ushered it out. He started to curl back up in the chewed and slightly damp remains of the Wooster duvet, but the W. teeth were clacking out a dance rhythm. Jeeves gave a sort of sigh and crawled in with the y. master, arranging both duvets over us and putting the strong manly arms about the willowy corpus. I clung to him like a vibrating limpet. The willowy c. simply ached with cold.

“Sir, if you would allow me to take a liberty, I may be able to make the transfer of heat more effective.”

“Please, Jeeves,” I croaked and he unbuttoned the pajama shirts, pressing the bare skins together. The sensations of the corpus simply washed over the flagging W. bean. A low crooning moan spilled out of the lips and all manner of blushes stained the cheeks.

Jeeves rubbed the young master’s arms and back, and Bertram imagined that he emitted a soft rumbling purr, the sort of thing that a tiger might use to signal matey contentment and affection. Dashed lovely, yet bally unnerving.

When the corpus stopped quaking like the San Francisco earthquake, we gazed deep into the e.s. The Jeevesian map charted the brand of tender adoration Bertram dreamt of in the clinging, drooping kind of mate. It seemed infinitely better on his rugged dial. Wordlessly, we sealed the lips with a most luscious, tender, tingly sensation.

Approximately ten thousand elves burst out in hysterical giggles.

Blighters.

  

**Part Four: Christmas Morn (narrated by Jeeves)**

I stirred in the light of dawn, half awake, and accidentally roused my bedmate. “Jeeves?” Mr. Wooster stirred sleepily.  

“Yes, sir?” I felt myself melting at his soft, puzzled expression.

“I rather wondered, er, ah, well, before those bally elves came in.” I took the liberty of stroking his soft golden hair.

“As did I, sir.”

“Jeeves, you stand alone,” he said. “Or, rest, er, whatsit.”

“Thank-you, sir.” In another moment, he had crawled up, wrapped his arms and legs around me, and pressed his lips against mine. We settled into a tangle of limbs, prolonging our embrace until a further incursion of giggling elves interrupted us.

It was really extremely vexing.


	3. Christmas Day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "And so it was that Wooster found himself installed at the table in the kitchen since Jeeves refused to eat in the dining room. As it happened, it was the first time Jeeves genuinely misunderstood the young master, but I was not to know that until later."
> 
> Bertie receives an assignment from Father Christmas. Jeeves becomes annoyed when Bertie brings home an unexpected guest for Christmas dinner. Bertie is determined to get a healthy portion of yuletide snuggles.

**Part Five: A Chat with Father Christmas**

After the elves had scurried out, to get more cookies or gingernuts or what have you, Jeeves and I donned our not-so-gay apparel, which had appeared, neatly folded, on the bedside tables.

Father Christmas dispatched an elf to hie me thither, and I oozed in while Jeeves trickled off to seek sustenance other than bally gingerbread. “Bertram,” the old Claus looked as sober and serious as such a cheery cove could look. “I am most concerned about your situation.”

One never knew how serious the whole golf club wheeze could become. “Ah, well, stiff upper lip and all that, what?”

The old fellow winked like a jolly elf and chuckled. “Tell me about Reginald,” he grinned.

That was a bit of a corker. Who was this Reginald bird? “Ah, rather a good old egg, I’m sure, what?”

Father C. smiled patiently, much the same way Jeeves smiled at the young Wooster the morning he gave away my sprightly checked suit. “Is that all you have to say about Reginald Jeeves?”

Light shone in on the young Wooster. “Ah, Jeeves!” The willowy form began to tingle and I felt a bit of a blush staining the dial. “Ah, well, he is a marvel and a paragon and the center of the home. I am bally useless without him.”

The amusement on the jolly old onion grew deeper. “What do you know about him as a man?” Claus asked.

“Ah, he shimmers in mysterious ways his wonders to perform.” I prattled about Jeeves’s massive brain and his private education, uncle Charlie, his job as a page in a girls’ school, his previous employers, Soapy Sid, and his way with a bet and ability to get into the rough and tumble. Then I dwelt for some time on his improving reading matter and liking for Rosie M. Banks, which he thought I did not know about.

Then Father C. biffed Bertram in the solar plexus with a probing question. “Do you really believe that every time he has been cold or short has been because of your clothes?” The willowy form staggered back a step at this novel take on the home.

“Sometimes one feels a bit henpecked, a mere ‘hey you’ about the home…” The old Claus nodded sagely. “Er, did you want to discuss my golf clubs?”

A great deal of ho-ho-ho-ing followed. “No, Bertram. Have a talk with Reginald. Discuss your feelings. I’ll speak with you again next year.”

The old grey matter swished about the bean. “A talk?”

“Yes, Bertram. Get off with you, then, and thank you for dispensing with all those spinning tops.”

“Ah, yes. That was the Jeevesian brain at work. All that fish, you know. He is a bally marvel.”

The breakfast came up a bit short. Jeeves managed to rustle up some cocoa and kipper-shaped sugar cookies, but they were as dust and macaroons in a third-rate coffee shop. Silly and Perky the elves packed us into a little sled and hied us forth toward the old homestead. Jeeves had to slip an arm about Wooster because the quarters were so narrow. Delish.

***

Jarvis was relieved when we staggered in. “Mr Wooster! Mr. Jeeves! I have several deliveries.” I bestowed wealth upon Jarvis while Jeeves supervised the disposal of tailoring, laundry, and several hampers of luxury goods. In short order, B. was equipped with fragrant eggs and b.

No one was expecting the pleasure of the company of Wooster, B. “Are you needed anywhere today, Jeeves?”

The Jeevesian eyebrow lifted a sixteenth of an inch. “No, sir. Will you attend your club this afternoon?”

It seemed a judicious plan, if that was the word I wanted. “Very wise course of action, Jeeves. You should biff off to attend the Junior Ganymedes.”

The eyebrow descended and the e. softened. “Thank you, sir. That is most considerate.” He made to ooze away.

The directions to chat rose up like that Banquo chappie, but less covered in gaping wounds. “We should commune to mangle of yuletide viands?”

He paused, mid-shimmer. “Very good, sir,” he said.

And so it was that Wooster found himself installed at the table in the kitchen since Jeeves refused to eat in the dining room. As it happened, it was the first time Jeeves genuinely misunderstood the young master, but I was not to know that until later.

***

I dressed and ankled out. At the Drones, I stumbled upon Stilton Cheesewright downing one or two of the needful. Once we had been a fruity and affectionate Damon and whatshisname. Now that he was entwined with La Morehead, we continued matey, but no longer fruity. Over luncheon, D’Arcy gave the Wooster dial a narrow look.

“Bertie, beneath the cheery smile, you are raveling the sleeve of care.”  I started to object, as one does.  "No, Bertie, I know you too well."

The Wooster fortitude crumbled like the walls of Jericho. “You know how complicated this love wheeze is.”

He mulled. “I once agreed, but when Daphne and I met at Brinkley Court… Bertie, she is so partial to me, despite my flaws. The old bean turns to mush whenever she ripples into view. The life flows on so much richer. I could not get on without her.”

A warm glow suffused the Wooster onion. How delightful for him. “That sounds simply topping, old egg.”

The expression of kind caring friendship across his map set the old coconut spinning. “Is the life better, Bertie? Is it better now than before?”

Jeeves had been known to call me unintelligent, to tell people that I am looney, and to coldly manipulate matters to get his way, but the life was improved since he had first flowed across the threshold. The home was a refuge now, a pleasant oasis of comfort and companionship. “Yes.”

The pumpkin-like visage grew very serious. “I know that we…”

A blush suffused the cheek. "D’Arcy, old muffin, you must know… you stood alone.”

He toyed with a bashful napkin. “The feeling was mutual. All I mean is don’t speak of this. You have a reputation as a womanizer to consider. Just be discreet during any, er, bohemian revels.” And then the old lightbulb flashed. Did Jeeves believe my b. revels were friskier than, in fact, they were?  Wooster had not communed with a cove in that way since D’Arcy.  He saw the emotional commotion on the Wooster nut and misunderstood. “Let’s issue forth.”

“Right ho.” D’Arcy had once brought me to one of those bally places inverts gathered and lost me in the crowd. It was ghastly. Wooster nearly panicked, but a largish cove, on the scale of Ginger Winship or Jeeves, put an arm about me. I’d stammered about being honored, but he only chuckled and sheltered the willowy form to the nearest exit.  I had scanned the crowd for D'Arcy, quivering like a jelly. D’Arcy had materialized and lugged me to his flat and we spent the night curled up on his Chesterfield. Afterward, Jeeves refused to speak to me for a week. At the time, I thought he was upset about my tie, but perhaps there was another explanation.

D’Arcy walked me home and I invited him in for a drink.

Jeeves shied back as if were were wearing ties covered with pink horseshoes. “I apologize for not anticipating your guest. I will have the dining room set up for two directly, sir,” Jeeves said, and I could tell by the set of his back that something was amiss.

D’Arcy took no notice. “I never mentioned this, Bertie, because I thought it was a coincidence, but it looked almost like Jeeves who helped you, that time….”

“Jeeves?”

“Yes, Bertie.” He took the hand. “Jeeves. Keep yourself safe.” He folded me in a warm embrace before he lumbered out.

I oozed into the kitchen to find Jeeves fiddling with covered dishes in the oven. Anger and upset elbowed each other for control of his dial. Did he think I had been canoodling with D’Arcy?

“Ah,” young Bertram said, in a masterful and manly way. “I ordered, ah, well, thingummy.” The bell rang before anything further could be said.

“Very good, sir,” said Jeeves, dissolving to answer the bell. He rematerialized with a cart and the young master started, sending a cover clattering to the floor. Jeeves had ordered in the same meal, soup to nuts, as the young master. The only rub in the ointment evident to the casual observer in re: the s. m. s-t-n’s, was the absence of a second portion.

“When do you anticipate Mr. Cheesewright’s return, sir?” Jeeves intoned. It was the same respectful air, but with an undercurrent of rumminess.

“Ah, perhaps not for some weeks,” said the y. m. “Jeeves, why did you arrange only one meal?”

“I did not anticipate a guest, sir,” said Jeeves.

“But I asked you to mangle,” my man’s e. grew thoughtful.

“I had a late tea, sir,” he said.

“But dash it, Jeeves, I meant to speak with you about this whole elf wheeze.”

“It would be most improper to dine with you formally, sir,” he said, the back going stiff in the way it did when I wore a pink tie with the wrong suit.

"Father Christmas was most, er, determined, Jeeves, like a jolly Aunt Agatha surrounded by elves."

My man relented so far as to allow me to mangle a spot of supper in the kitchen with him. He stowed a healthy portion of the viands, and one was struck with the reason why butlers packed on the pounds. “Jeeves,” I said after we had eaten the first few mouthfuls.

“Yes, sir?”

“Is this what you wanted? When you were a nipper?”

“Sir?”

“To be a gentleman’s personal gentleman? Is this the life you wanted?”

He took a draught of vintage. I’d bally insisted we have the Bollinger. “To be a valet to a gentleman such as yourself is a position of standing.” Then he reached over and took my hand. We both looked at our fingers entwined on the table. “But I did not imagine what I would discover in your service. I do want this life, our cozy bachelor arrangements.” He gave my paw a little squeeze and changed the subject.

I dove back into the fray with the nuts. “Was it you, Jeeves?” One eyebrow rose sharply.

“Sir?”

“At that ghastly watering ground. D’Arcy just… Did you help me?” His dial went scarlet. “How did you know?”

“I followed you. I heard you when I refreshed the ice. I could not bear… it would not be congenial for you.” My map went white and his went purple. “Will that be all, sir?” he asked, and whisked from the room before the mouth had flapped open.

 

**Part Six: Open Communication (narrated by Jeeves)**

Late Christmas night, I helped Mr. Wooster undress while he chattered about Mr. Cheesewright’s happiness with Miss Morehead. I settled him between the sheets with his detective story, and as I turned to go, he reached out and touched my hand.

“No, Jeeves,” he said. “Would you shimmer off before we have that chat? The jolly old elf was most insistent.”

“I should secure the flat and see to a few items, sir.”

“Just so, then. Carry on, Jeeves.” He settled back contentedly. I set the flat to rights, taking my time, in the hopes that Mr. Wooster would fall asleep and we could leave the whole shameful topic of my feelings undiscussed. As I locked the door, Mr. Wooster slipped his hand into mine. I looked down at our fingers. My mind raged, caught between the desire to tenderly kiss him and the urge to fling him against the wall and press against him roughly until we both collapsed in a heap of sated desire.

I felt my master trembling, just as he had that terrible, frightening night three years before. I had followed him and Mr. Cheesewright, not knowing why, only feeling that I somehow had to protect him from harm. I underestimated my attachment, the emotions that rose up in me as I escorted him back to his companion’s side. I had been unable to speak with Mr. Wooster for nearly a week.

Then, suddenly the image of Mr. Cheesewright’s face that same night, the worry and relief, assailed me. The young man had circled Mr. Wooster’s waist with an arm and led him away, taking care to protect him from the jostling crowd. Mr. Wooster was used to gentle treatment in these matters. I wished to be worthy of his trust, but my own experiences had been hurried, impersonal, furtive affairs. I did not know what to do.

Mr. Wooster pulled my hand, trying to lead me toward his bedroom. “Sir, I have no wish to impose on you.”

“Impose?” My master sounded genuinely bewildered.

I felt myself blush uncomfortably. “I am not certain you truly share this proclivity, sir. Perhaps your relationship with Mr. Cheesewright was just a schoolboy attachment. Forgive me for saying so, sir, but I have not perceived any other attachments of this sort.”

“I have not, as you say, since…” Mr. Wooster went red. “However, ah, yes. I share it, this proclivity. Rather.” He shuffled his feet. “You, that is, whatsit.”

“Sir, forgive me, but I do not comprehend.”

“We should speak, but the grey matter is mush.”

“Of course, sir.”

We stood, trembling, gazing into each other’s eyes. “Might we pash for a bit?”

I have long been very fond of Mr. Wooster, and my heart melted at this request. “Indeed, sir,” I said, but what I meant was “I love you.”


	4. Jeeves and the Boxing Day Snuggles

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Jeeves cupped the young master’s head in a hand and moved forward to press the labial regions together, stopping just short of contact and allowing Wooster to bridge the gap."
> 
> Jeeves demonstrates a proper snuggle. Bertie speaks frankly.

**Part Seven: Jeeves and the Boxing Day Snuggles**

Jeeves cupped the young master’s head in a hand and moved forward to press the labial regions together, stopping just short of contact and allowing Wooster to bridge the gap. His technique struck the y. m. as sound, more than sound, in fact. The full mouth was applied to the task and the unobtrusive footwork seamlessly brought the sapling-like form against the sturdier Jeevesian trunk. Waists were gripped and the slippers communed with the J-ian footwear.

We came up for breath. “Jeeves?” I gasped between heaves.

“Yes, sir?” Even though his chest was working like a stevedore, he sounded composed, as if he were inviting Sir Roderick Glossop to have a lemon squash.

A slender paw rested on his breastbone. “Might I thingummy your tie and shirt buttons without creating offense?”

His fingers flexed against the soft flesh on the Wooster back. “Yes, of course, sir.”

An uneasy feeling biffed the young master. “Not ‘of course,’ Jeeves.”

His lips parted and he stroked the damask cheek. “Please, sir. I would be most grateful to experience the sartorial manipulations you suggest.”

All seemed just the ticket, except for one thing. “Jeeves, whatever happens between us,’ I began, and the chiseled visage grew grave, “I must stipulate that we end with a cuddle.”

Jeeves made a noise like a sheep hurriedly turning a laugh into a cough on a distant hillside. “I believe that could be arranged if you are willing to demonstrate the proper technique, sir.”

“Demonstrate?”

He brushed the golden hair behind the ear with quivering fingers. “Yes, sir.”

“As in demonstrate, or offer a demonstration?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Now?” It seemed a bit out of whatsit. “Would it not be a bit forward?”

The eyes twinkled down. “If I may suggest, sir, perhaps we might begin with the buttons as you desired.” And he loosed his tie.

“I say, that would be topping.”

The buttons became liberated and canoodling followed. We paused to capture the breaths once more, and Bertram suggested repairing to a more comfortable location. Jeeves positively refused to retire to the Wooster bedchamber. “Perhaps, you would be so good as to come with me, sir?” He settled an arm about the willowy form and steered the young master to his lair.

The bed was rather narrow for two, but that posed little difficulty as Jeeves pulled the whippet-like y. m. into his lap as matters progressed. Eventually, Bertram lay gasping and trembling across the Jeevesian chest, the pajamas disarranged and the dressing gown tossed over a chair.

Even though he was out of breath himself, Jeeves managed to bung a reassuring arm about the slender corpus.

I woke the next morning, nestled against a broad and manly shoulder. Jeeves had been awake for some time, partaking of a sensible book and, it seemed, soothing Bertram back to sleep at intervals, since he had clearly been up to don his brown pajamas and make the tea and toast that sat on the bedside table. I stirred and he kissed the head and rubbed the back gently. I was tempted to drift back off but what-hoed instead.

“Good morning, sir. I apologize for being in bed behind my time. If you will excuse me, I will prepare your tea.”

“I desire a pre-tea snuggle, Jeeves, if it does not trouble you unduly.” He chuckled and gave me a squeeze. “Do I amuse you?”

“I apologize for the liberty, sir.” This sounds stiff, but he gazed fondly at me as he said it. The heart went warm and runny. “It is merely an expression of affection.”

“Affection?”

“Yes, sir. Shall I prepare your tea?”

“What about that snuggle?” He gave the corpus another squeeze and then began to shimmer out. I caught his waist and he interrupted his shimmer and looked at me. “Perhaps I should show you the proper procedure, Jeeves.”

“Yes, sir,” said Jeeves, e.s twinkling.

And we snuggled. “Jeeves, you are a marvel.”

“Thank-you, sir.”

“Bally wonderful.”

“I return the compliment, sir. Shall I tend to your tea now?”

The time had come for frank speaking. “Jeeves.”

“Yes, sir?”

“Enough about the tea.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Expunge all hot beverages from your mind.”

“They are expunged, sir.”

“Very good. Now, please be so good as to demonstrate a proper snuggle. Your earlier lapse was gravely concerning and I must see if you have mastered the technique.”

Throughout these activities, Jeeves had appeared generally like himself, although perhaps a bit flushed at the edges. Now, his eyes smouldered and his breath caught in the most endearing way. “Yes, sir,” he breathed, looking at the y.m.’s lips, then back at the blue orbs. “With pleasure.”

It was dashed fabulous, but not as fabulous as what happened afterward. As we lay trembling together, Jeeves releaxed, looked down on the young master and let his mouth ease into a glowing smile. “Very good, sir.”


	5. Afterword: One Year Later

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "The heart swelled and snuggly whatnots might have immediately ensued, if the room had not somehow filled with squealing, giggling elves shrieking, “Love you Jeevesie!” in their horrid, shrill voices." 
> 
> Father Christmas upsets Jeeves. Bertie is withering. Elves screech and giggle.
> 
> There are snuggles.

Christmas Eve had rolled around again and Father Christmas was in his usual jolly old fettle, the giant lump on his head notwith…thingummy. I do not know how the old dragon managed to biff him, but she did, this time with a ghastly oriental vase. The elves sidled around warily, still fearful that they might catch some naughtiness from Jeeves and self. 

The j. old elf had Jeeves discomposed in a matter of seconds. I ankled in before being summoned, kneaded the shoulder and smoothed his hair with the other hand. He pressed his dial against the narrow waist. “Whatever is the matter?” 

“I apologize, sir. I will be better directly.”

I lifted the bean and gave Father Christmas a withering glance. He refused to wither and instead seemed unduly amused. “What in bally blazes have you done to him?”

“He still calls you sir, I see. Bertram, you and Reginald have done a great number of naughty things.”

A tie-like pinkness stained the cheeks. “And we just spent the past four thousand centuries biffing toys around Ireland and Wales in recompense for that and Aunt Agatha whacking you across the back of the bean. Again. You really must become more nimble, old chap.”

He ho-ho-hoed. “Thank-you for dispensing with all those hobby horses. The elves are keen to make them but no one ever seems to want them.”

“We endeavor to provide satisfaction, old Kringle.” I patted Jeeves again. He’d come up with the wheeze of giving hobby horses instead of coal to all the mildly naughty children. 

“Bertram, can you tell me what the two of you have been doing this past year?”

The willowy waist was compressed in the Jeevesian grip. “Er, speaking frankly and, ah, thingummy.”

“Thingummy, Bertram?”

“There is a tie that binds.” I rubbed the back of Jeeves’s neck. “But some things are not properly discussed.”

Father Christmas snorted and ho-ho-ho-ed again. “The two of you had better go home and properly discuss them, then.”

He waddled out and Bertram took both sides of the Jeevesian map in a gentle grip. “Jeeves?”

“I love you,” he whispered. The heart swelled and snuggly whatnots might have immediately ensued, if the room had not somehow filled with squealing, giggling elves shrieking, “Love you Jeevesie!” in their horrid, shrill voices. Jeeves drew himself up and chivvied the little blighters from the room. Winky and Blinky loaded us up in a little sleigh and flew us home.

Once back in the old living room at Berkeley Mansions, we convened on the Chesterfield. “Why were you so unhinged, Jeeves?”

“He asked if you loved me.” He rested the onion against me, and I kneaded his shoulder.

“I do love you, of course, oh wondrous cuddler.” He chuckled. “You must have known, but I am very sorry I never said so straight out. You know how hard it is for you to dispense with the stuffed frog, after all.” 

“Indeed,” he said, looking very s. f. Then he let the e.s do a sort of smoulder that sent the heart to jelly. “Shall we pash now?”

The trousers tented. “Something more, I think?”

“Very good,” he said, giving me a smart nip on the nose before we levered up.

Jeeves quivered like a plucked bow thing. “Reg, are you all right?”

“I apologize for occasioning you worry.” He quaffed deeply of the evening b and s, and I filled his glass again. "Father Christmas offered to grant a Christmas wish..."

Rummy. Why would that upset him? “And what is your Christmas wish?”

“That we could stay somewhere together without fear of discovery, as equals.” The tears welled up in the Wooster e.s. “And then I remembered that you had… I cannot believe my good fortune.” The heart liquefied.

“I say, this calls for a nice, long snuggle.” 

The Jeevesian e. twinkled. “That would be entirely welcome. Would you like the usual cuddle to end?” It was anything but usual.

Afterward, we shared a gasper. “Thank-you for taking me a house in Italy, Bertram.” It had become necessary when the Paris flat became known to our acquaintance from London.

“You are most welcome, Reggie.” We nestled together in the bed and twined our fingers together. “You have made the life better in every possible way. I am bally thankful to be with you. I love you.”

“And I love you.” I looked deep into his eyes and saw the love light there and knew it was burning in my own dial as well. As we settled to sleep, the Christmas bells rang out and all was right with the world.


End file.
